


A Study in Monster Hunting and Crossovers

by AgentInfinity



Series: Porn!AU [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: A bunch of nerds, Anal Fingering, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Crossover, Flogging, Gen, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, M/M, Seriously nonny I hope you're happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean drop in on Enjolras and Grantaire during a maenad hunt.  Crack!fic ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Monster Hunting and Crossovers

**Author's Note:**

> I got a prompt on Tumblr for a crossover between my SPN fic (which I find to be cringe-worthy and will never be finished) and my Les Mis porn!au 'verse, and this is what happened. Nine pages of awkward. I'm so sorry. All mistakes are my own.

Grantaire wishes he could use his hands at the moment to hold on to anything. He feels like he’s going to fall through the couch, the floor, the ground, and into the core of the earth.

 

His hands are cuffed behind him, his face is pressed into the couch cushion, and his ass is in the air. Enjolras is fucking him with his fingers and beating him with a flogger, and every so often, a tongue is slipped in alongside the fingers. He’s been gagged with a rope bit, more to make his words sound ridiculous than to shut him up, but he is so deep in subspace that he can’t tell which side is up or down anymore. They’d started out the afternoon with a sparring match, followed by Enjolras tying him up and taking him apart slowly both with words and pain. The last time he’d been paying attention to the time, they’d been at it for an hour. He has no idea how long ago that was, though. Enjolras has come twice, once down Grantaire’s throat and then all over the flogger’s marks on his chest, but Grantaire hasn’t been permitted to come yet.

 

He is in exquisite agony, but he knows Enjolras will take care of him. 

 

“Please, Sir,” he pleads around the gag. “Please, please, please, Sir.” His words are soft and breathy, but it’s all he can manage. Nothing else matters. Enjolras is all around him. He’s still flogging Grantaire’s back with a languid rhythm while his fingers rub insistently at that sweet spot inside him.

 

“Please what? Keep begging so nicely and I’ll reward you. Tell me what you want, and I’ll decide whether you’ve earned it.” Enjolras is speaking directly into Grantaire’s ear now, biting down hard on his earlobe when he’s finished. The muted thump of Enjolras dropping the flogger to the floor barely registers.

 

“Please, Sir, can I come? Please, I need to come, please, please. Oh god, Enjolras, please. Can I come?” he babbles, unable to stop the flow of words as they spill out, no longer able to delineate between ‘Sir’ and ‘Enjolras’.

 

“Shh, I’ve got you R. You can come. Come now.” Enjolras highlights his words with two quick strokes over Grantaire’s cock, and then Grantaire is spilling himself all over the towel lying beneath them.

 

Then, before Enjolras can help maneuver Grantaire onto his side, before Enjolras can even pull his fingers out of Grantaire’s ass, there’s a loud crack and a crash at the far end of the living room. Grantaire’s body tenses for the jolt of pain, wondering if he’s got anything left to give after a scene that lasted at least two hours, but the pain never comes. He has his forehead pressed into the couch, trying to breathe and keep his hips up despite the shaking of his legs. 

 

The endorphins flooding his brain have made everything hazy. He’s exhausted but sated. He just wants Enjolras to wrap himself around Grantaire and whisper encouragements to him like he always does after a scene. In the back of his brain, however, he knows something isn’t right. He should really look because after the crash everything went silent, but the tiredness seems to have settled inside his very bones, and it would take too much effort to lift his head.

 

“E? What’s wrong?” he asks, but it comes out weird. Oh right. The gag.

 

“Oh fuck, sorry, R. I’ve got you,” Enjolras murmurs. The fingers that had stilled in his ass are gingerly removed and wiped on the towel before his gag and hands are deftly untied. Enjolras lifts the towel from under Grantaire’s hips and cleans him, whispering to him the entire time.

 

“You did so well, Grantaire. You were perfect. I’ve got you, don’t worry.” Enjolras positions Grantaire on his side and drapes a blanket around him, sitting on the edge of the couch and stroking his hair. 

 

“Shouldn’t you wash your hands?” A new voice startles Grantaire out of his blissful haze and his eyes pop open. Two disheveled men are standing in the corner of his living room in the ruins of the side table he’d liberated from a dumpster. It takes a few moments for his brain to catch up with his eyes, but when it does, there aren’t any more explanations there than when he first opened his eyes.

 

“What,” Grantaire says. When he looks up at Enjolras, his boyfriend has one hand still in his hair and the other is holding the baseball bat kept under the couch for just such occasions. Grantaire knows he should stand up. He knows he should. And while he’s at it, he probably needs clothes. But all he can do is stare at the two men, who are holding guns by the way, and think, _Well, if this is how I die, at least my last two hours on earth were spectacular._

 

Enjolras, though. He doesn’t want Enjolras to die. _That_ gets him up. Clothes or no clothes he will fight these motherfuckers until his last breath if it means Enjolras gets to live.

 

“Grantaire. Sit back down,” Enjolras orders him quietly.

 

“No, you’ve only been in judo with me for three weeks. That means you sit down.”

 

“Both of you sit down,” the shorter of the two says, the hand with the gun lowering to his side.

 

“I don’t fucking think so. This is my apartment, asshole. You need to leave.” Grantaire has no idea how his voice is so steady, but he’s glad it is.

 

“I’m sorry. We’re just not sure why we ended up here. I apologize, but we can’t leave yet,” the taller man says, actually looking apologetic. He also lowers his gun, which is a sawed-off shotgun, pointing it to the floor in a relaxed grip. Enjolras and Grantaire share a look. Enjolras’ eyes are stern, still wanting Grantaire to sit down. He’s still worried about Grantaire dropping after such a long scene without any aftercare. Which is frankly ridiculous seeing as how two formidable-looking, gun-toting weirdos are standing in Grantaire’s apartment. Grantaire is trying to relay the message that he is fine right now and stands a much better chance against these two than Enjolras does.

 

They both stay standing, glaring down first each other and then the intruders.

 

Grantaire notices that his door is still locked. The deadbolt and the chain are still engaged and undamaged. That’s odd.

 

“How did you even get in here?” he asks, truly curious. His windows are all either locked, unable to be opened at all, or too small for someone climb though. He lives on the sixth floor. He doesn’t recall hearing any glass breaking, just the splintering crash of his table.

 

“We’re not sure about that actually,” Tall guy says, giving a sheepish smile. Both men are actually pretty attractive, even as their ultra-alpha male disposition is pouring off them in waves. Grantaire suspects the shorter man would cry when he broke and enjoy every second.

 

“What does that mean?” Enjolras asks, his curiosity piqued as well.

 

“Five minutes ago, we were in Arkansas. Where is this?” Short Guy asks.

 

“My apartment,” Grantaire answers helpfully. That gets him a scowl. The two men take a second to murmur to each other, as if they weren’t standing in a stranger’s home in front of said stranger as he nakedly shifts his posture into a fighting stance. Grantaire leans toward Enjolras.

 

“What the fuck,” Grantaire whispers.

 

“I have no clue. They seem crazy. Arkansas? ” he replies. “They did just appear though. Right into your table. Then they looked around like they were surprised to be here.”

 

“I liked that table,” Grantaire says mournfully.

 

“Are you okay? You look kind of…not.”

 

“Fuck no I’m not okay. I need a cigarette and some of that lotion you brought and a good nap,” Grantaire says quickly. He looks back and forth between the Enjolras and the two strangers, who have stopped talking amongst themselves and are now just staring at Grantaire and Enjolras.

 

“Look, we aren’t going to hurt you. You can get some clothes on if you want,” Tall Guy offers, smiling and not daring to take his eyes off Grantaire’s face.

 

“Yeah, please get dressed,” Short Guy asks awkwardly.

 

“What the fuck,” Grantaire says. Because well, _what the fuck?_

 

“Grantaire, go get dressed,” Enjolras tells him in his best dominant voice. Grantaire’s cock twitches, and the two men look away simultaneously.

 

“Not fair, E. That was dirty,” Grantaire protests.

 

“Grantaire, go,” Enjolras urges, more insistently. Which, okay, yes he needs clothes, but leaving means Enjolras is in the room alone with two possible psycho murderers.

 

“What if they kill you? Then I’m gonna have to kill them, and then I’ll go to jail, and this will all go down as one of those crazy news stories about the lovelorn madman who was found naked and covered in the blood of two dudes.” Grantaire can’t keep his head together. Maybe if he hadn’t just been taken down within an inch of his sanity, then he would be able to think more clearly.

 

But, he was and he can’t.

 

“Look, man, we’re not gonna kill your master or whatever he is,” the short guy starts, but is abruptly cut off by Grantaire’s uncontrollable laughter.

 

“Master? Oh my god, _master_ ,” Grantaire chokes out between hysterical laughs. Grantaire cannot stand to call anyone or be called ‘master’. It makes him laugh every time. Even Enjolras, who accepts the term when someone prefers it in a scene, cracks a wry smile.

 

“Dude, I don’t know what to call what we just saw. So, fuck off with the judgements.” Short Guy is getting testy.

 

“That’s ironic considering you’re judging us right now for what you saw,” Enjolras comments coolly.

 

“Nope, no judgements. Just extreme awkwardness.” Grantaire smiles in spite of himself because, yeah. Awkward is a good word for it.

 

“Fine, but if I come back to a dead lover, there will be death. Definitely you, Shorty, and probably Tall Guy if I can manage it.” He ignores the indignant look from Short Guy and amusement of Tall Guy as he shuffles from the room, never taking his eyes off the two intruders.

 

He gets dressed quickly from whatever is lying around the floor of his room, listening for sounds of a struggle or fighting, but hears nothing as he pulls on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. When he reenters the room, Enjolras is standing in the same spot with the bat slung over his shoulder, and the two men are speaking in quiet tones amongst themselves.

 

“Okay, so why are you here, and why won’t you get the fuck out?” Grantaire asks in his best ‘no bullshit’ voice. 

 

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you, Short Guy says.

 

“You’re in his home, uninvited and armed, and refuse to leave. You owe us an explanation,” Enjolras says, fingers tightening over the handle of the bat minutely. Grantaire wonders briefly if maybe he shouldn’t have worried about Enjolras being able to defend himself. He could probably defeat these two guys with the sheer power of his will.

 

“Okay then, we’re chasing a maenad gone rogue and ended up here when we cast the tracking spell.” Short guy gives them a wan smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as they both just stare at him. The words themselves make sense when he thinks about them, but not together in that order.

 

“So, you’re nuts?” Grantaire replies, matter-of-factly.

 

“I said you wouldn’t believe us.” Another staring match ensues, followed by Grantaire noting how tired he is.

 

“I’m going to the kitchen for some coffee and a cigarette,” he says. He turns for the kitchen, hooking his hand around Enjolras’ arm and tugging him along. He isn’t worried about them stealing anything. The only things he really values are his painting supplies, his sex toys, and his guitar. They don’t seem the type to need any of those things. His wallet is in the kitchen where he lost his pants during the struggle with Enjolras earlier.

 

Once he flips on the coffee pot, Grantaire goes to the window and lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke out into the crisp evening air. Unlike the air in his apartment, things make sense out there in that air. Or more sense. Sometimes.

 

Christ, Grantaire doesn’t even know anymore. After a few minutes, he looks over to Enjolras and sighs. 

 

“So, I have to say, I’m at a loss. Should we call the cops?” he asks.

 

“Probably,” Enjolras says simply. “Our phones are in the living room, though. On the table by the door. Next to the strange men chasing monsters.”

 

“Monster. Singular,” a voice from the doorway informs them. Enjolras turns to face them, bat still in hand, while Grantaire just smokes.

 

“Hypothetically,” Grantaire starts without looking at them, “how does one kill a worshipper of Dionysus?”

 

“With a stake made from a tree that grew in Semele’s village.”

 

“Of course,” he says. Because why not? “And could you two appearing under a painting of Dionysus that had my blood on it while Enjolras and I were fucking have anything to do with your spell sending you here?” If Grantaire is going to follow this rabbit down its hole, he is going to go all in with the hope of these two crazy people leaving his apartment quickly so he can have a nap.

 

Tall guy looks thoughtful for a moment.

 

“Yes, that could do it. You were basically doing an appeasement ritual to Dionysus if you look at it that way. The revelry doesn’t have to include drunkenness, I guess.”

“Dionysus gets appeased pretty often then,” Enjolras adds. “And why is your blood on that painting?”

 

“Eh, I cut my finger with a box cutter when I was unpacking it. I cleaned it off best I could, but Feuilly said it was fitting, given the subject matter. He’s the one who gave it to me.”

 

“So, how do you go back to Arkansas?” Grantaire asks them. He really wants a nap.

 

“Well, that’s the shitty part. It’s possible that our summoning spell and your _offering_ could bring the maenad here. So, we should wait to see if it pops up here.” Tall guy looks sheepish again. Grantaire is done. He crushes his smoke in the ashtray and pushes past the guys who are crazy in order to get to his cell phone.

 

He has 911 dialed, but before he can hit send, someone grabs the phone out of his hand and shoves him hard into the wall by the front door. He can see Enjolras struggling over the bat with Short Guy over the breakfast bar, but before he can get there, Tall Guy shoves him over and pins him to the floor. Grantaire tries throwing elbows, he kicks, he rears his head back in search of a nose, but it’s all to no avail. This fucking guy is so goddamn tall that Grantaire is well and truly immobilized. He can hear the scuffle still going in the kitchen, lots of grunts and curses flying. When Grantaire takes a second to listen, he’s surprised to hear that most of the angry curse words flying around are not from Enjolras, but from Short Guy.

 

“Enjolras!” Grantaire shouts. “Are you okay?” There’s no sound for a long moment, but then he hears someone yell, “Sonovabitch!” who is definitely not Enjolras. Grantaire rests his head on the floor for a second, sighing in relief.

 

“Let him up and slide your gun away,” Enjolras says, cold and measured. The enormous weight lifts off his back, and he gratefully sucks in a large lungful of oxygen. Once he’s standing, he takes in the room. Tall Guy is standing to Grantaire’s right far enough away to stop him from being an immediate threat. Enjolras has Short Guy’s gun trained on him with one hand and a kitchen knife at the back of Short Guy.

 

Grantaire is so turned on in that second that he doesn’t immediately realize that he should probably check Tall Guy for hidden weapons.

 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Enjolras says in that cold and detached tone. Grantaire has never heard Enjolras use that voice before, and he’s not entirely sure what it means. “You are going to sit down on the couch. Grantaire is going to bind your hands while I call the cops. If you make a move to hurt him, I will kill you.”

 

Holy shit. Grantaire doesn’t know what to do with that. So, when both strangers obey with no dissention, Grantaire goes to the bedroom to get the rope. He quickly ties their arms and hands tightly together from forearms to hands, rendering even their fingers immobile. His hands fly through the wraps and knots while Enjolras keeps the gun trained on them. Enjolras calls 911 with his free hand, relaying the story to the operator as the two stony-faced men glare.

 

“Look, if this thing attacks, you’re gonna be sitting ducks with us tied up like this,” Short Guy informs him.

 

“Quack,” Grantaire says, deadpan. “What’re your names anyway?” He’s tired if calling them ‘Tall Guy’ and ‘Short Guy’.

 

“James and Lars.” Grantaire gives up trying to talk to them.

 

“Ten minutes,” Enjolras informs them.

 

“Thank fucking Jesus,” Grantaire mumbles, sitting down in the floor facing the couch. Does he just attract the crazy? Or is he also crazy and like things find their kin?

 

He tips his head back and closes his eyes, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. He opens his eyes a split second before he tilts his head back down, but it’s enough for him to roll out of the way of the _goddamn fucking monster lady_ as she lunges out of the hallway and straight at him.

 

“FUCK!” he shouts, rolling toward the front door and taking Enjolras down by his knees as she leaps toward him. She hits the wall behind them, punching a hole in it, and turns gnashing her pointed teeth at them.

 

Grantaire throws a wild kick at her and catches her in the jaw, which does absolutely nothing besides somehow making her angrier. He leaps on top of her, trying to give Enjolras enough time to untie the possibly not crazy guys on the couch.

 

When he catches a glimpse of his lovely boyfriend, however, he’s just sitting in the floor and staring.

 

“Enjolras! Cut their ropes! Give them weapons! Get off your ass!!” he screeches, finding himself on the monster’s back. The _maenad_. This fucking thing is a maenad. Like, they exist, and they have charcoal skin, and they’re basically naked, and they smell like sweet wine.

 

Grantaire pushes _that_ thought out of his mind and tries to choke the thing as she attempts to throw Grantaire off her back. As she turns them around, Grantaire sees Enjolras free Short Guy and start to work on Tall Guy.

 

“Where’s the stake?” he calls out to them.

 

“It must have fallen out of my pocket somewhere!” Tall Guy answers, searching around. Short Guy aims his gun at her and Grantaire but doesn’t take the shot. Grantaire’s glad. He likes not having bullet holes in him. Tall Guy begins picking through the splintered mess that used to be Grantaire’s side table.

 

“Got it!” he yells and holds it up.

 

“Use it then,” Grantaire says breathlessly. He drops his feet to the floor and pulls her head backward, kicking her legs forward at the same time. She falls back onto him and he flips them over. Short Guy lands over her feet, Enjolras shoves her face into the ground, and Grantaire leaps up. Tall Guy drives the point of the stake into her back just to the left of her spine. She lets out a wretched scream and then slumps lifeless back to the floor.

 

For a long moment, they all just stare down at her. Then, they all stand, but continue staring at her.

 

That’s when they hear the sirens.

 

“Fuck. How do we explain this?” Grantaire asks, watching her dark blue blood slowly seeping into his rug. 

 

“We don’t. I’ll be back,” Enjolras says quietly and slips out the door. Grantaire holds a hand out to the two guys who apparently aren’t as crazy as the world is.

 

“I’m Grantaire. I’m an artist and a porn star.” After a beat, Tall Guy reaches out and shakes his hand.

 

“Sam,” he says, giving Grantaire a small nod. Short Guy takes his hand after Sam lets go and gives it one firm shake.

 

“Dean.”

 

“So, do you guys kill lots of maenads?” he asks conversationally as the one in question is still bleeding dangerously close to the edge of the rug.

 

“This is the first one of these we’ve been up against. She’s been killing people as sacrifices to Dionysus. Trying to bring him back.”

 

“I hate this conversation,” Grantaire informs them. Enjolras comes back through the door, closing it softly behind him.

 

“I told them my friends were playing a prank on me and let it go too far. Apparently that’s all you have to say to make the police leave without checking anything out. Bunch of lazy, bureaucratic-” Enjolras starts, but Grantaire cuts him off.

 

“E, there is a _maenad_ bleeding all over my floor. Maybe give the cops who were too lazy to come up and see this dead body a break for the night.” Dean looks up and grins. 

 

“So, Mr. Artist. Do you have some sheet plastic somewhere?”

 

***

“Monsters are real, huh?” Grantaire says more than asks as he scrubs at the large dark stain on his rug. He should have thrown it out with the body now residing in the trunk of Combeferre’s car. Enjolras and Sam had carried it down the fire escape after dark and were driving it out of the city to burn it.

 

“Unfortunately,” Dean replies, sighing and tossing his scrub brush into the bucket of now-murky water. “I think your rug is a lost cause, dude.” Grantaire stops scrubbing too.

 

“Yeah, I suppose so.” Grantaire takes the bucket to the kitchen to dump it and comes back to find Dean lounging in the easy chair that Enjolras likes so much. While Enjolras and Sam were gone, Dean and Grantaire had cleaned up the kitchen from the scuffle he and Enjolras’d had, picked up the ruined side table, and then tackled the spot on the rug. Grantaire lies down on the couch and lights a cigarette. He’s never getting his security deposit back on this apartment now, not with the large maenad-shaped hole in the wall, so he might as well smoke where ever he wants.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to have any whiskey, would you?” Dean asks. Grantaire smirks at him through heavy-handed eyes and exhales smoke. “Beer?” he adds hopefully. 

“Nope. Not a drop.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his homemade eighteen month chip, tossing it to Dean.

 

“Eighteen months, huh? That’s great, man. Congrats.” Funnily enough, it sounds sincere. What a strange man. He tosses the chip back to Grantaire, who catches it and slips it back in his pocket.

 

“As far as vices go, I can offer caffeine, nicotine, and various types of non-vanilla sexcapades,” he tells Dean.

 

“Well, I guess I’ll pass then. I’m not sure caffeine would be helpful right about now.”

 

“That’s fine. I don’t feel like moving in order to make the coffee and I sure as he’ll don’t have the energy to beat you with anything.” Dean just smiles and relaxes his head back against the chair, letting his eyes slide shut. Interesting.

 

“You’re a bottom,” Grantaire says. “Aren’t you?” Dean laughs.

 

“I enjoy the occasional bit of pain with my pleasure, and if someone wants to take charge for an evening, that’s fine too, but I don’t do anything like what I saw earlier.” A beat of silence passes. “Is that the kind of porn you do? Kinky ropes and cattle prods and all that?” Grantaire laughs, because yeah, that’s it in a nutshell.

 

“Yes, that’s the kind of porn I do.”

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“I do. Both sides of the coin, but I only shoot as a dominant. My submission belongs to Enjolras.”

 

“That dude is scary.” Grantaire snorts.

 

“You should see him with a cane.” Another few moments of silence go by. Grantaire smokes another cigarette and Dean seems to drift into a light sleep.

 

The ring of the doorbell rouses them both. Grantaire groans, but heaves himself off the couch and to the door anyway. Cosette is standing there in her black leather and high ponytail.

 

“Evening, Madame,” Grantaire says, dipping his head briefly and letting her step inside. She’s carrying the cane he leant her the week before. It’s an extremely rigid one. She wanted to try it with Marius.

 

“Hello, R. Did you shoot today? You look dead on your feet.” She reaches out and strokes a hand through his hair.

 

“You would not believe me if I told you about my day.” She scrutinizes him briefly but doesn’t push it. She starts to say something and stops, noticing Dean.

 

“Hello, there,” she says. Dean looks flabbergasted. He’s all wide eyes and open mouth. Grantaire understands. Even he kind of wants to sit at her feet and lick her boots.

 

“Cosette, this is Dean. Dean, this is Madame Cosette,” Grantaire introduces.

 

“Pleased to meet you, Dean,” Cosette says, holding out the hand not holding the cane for a handshake.

 

“Likewise,” Dean says quietly.

 

“Mmm,” Cosette hums, “Are you the reason Grantaire is all tired out?” she asks.

 

“No. I mean, yes. But, not because. Well, you know,” Dean babbles.

 

“You’re adorable,” she says before turning to Grantaire. “Marius is in the car. He says hello. We both thank you for the use of your cane. It was perfect. Marius cleaned and oiled it yesterday, so it’s in good working order once again.” She hands him the cane.

 

“Great. I assume Marius is having trouble walking today?” Cosette gives him a wicked smile.

 

“He was yesterday, but not so much today. Sitting is the main issue today, I’m afraid.”

“Well, send him my condolences for his ass. And tell him I said ‘You’re welcome.’”

“I will. I think I’ll be buying one of those canes for myself soon. It was quite the experience for both of us.” She smiles a bit to herself, wistful and happy. Grantaire has only known Cosette for a short time, but he loves her already.

“Good, I’m glad,” he says. She hugs him, tight and warm, and turns to leave, but stops at the door and looks to Dean.

“I don’t know who you are, cutie, but if you’re ever looking for someone to take you apart slowly, I’m game.” She winks at him, buttons up her jacket, and steps into the hallway, walking as sure as anyone on five-inch stiletto boots.

“Who was that?” Dean asks, eyes wide.

“The lovely Madame Cosette. Stunningly beautiful and mean as a snake.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Grantaire sits back down and they wait in amiable silence for another thirty minutes until Enjolras and Sam come back.

After some awkward farewells, Sam and Dean head for a bus terminal, considering they traveled via magic spell to Grantaire’s apartment. Enjolras and Grantaire crawl into bed, both too exhausted to even begin to muddle through the happenings of the day.

“We don’t speak of this to anyone. Ever,” Grantaire says, trailing a hand down Enjolras’ chest.

“Agreed.” Grantaire stays awake for a few more minutes until Enjolras’ breathing evens out, letting Enjolras’ peaceful expression wash all the thoughts of real, living Greek gods and monsters from his mind. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. Anyway, if you have requests for this 'verse, drop by my tumblr and send me something. Anons accepted.
> 
> agentxinfinity.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading this mess. <3


End file.
